


Reboot

by Chibifukurou



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Animated, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Gen, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/pseuds/Chibifukurou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he wakes up, he’s dead and buried. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because what kind of crazy person buries a robot?</p><p>Well Bruce apparently. </p><p>When the Manor's alarms go off, there are a lot of things Bruce was expecting to find. His de-activated robot son, wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big Thank You to Madame Marigold/Smoking Cougar for coming through for me. As always all remaining mistakes are mine. And another BIG THANK YOU to Clexmonkie89 for all of her awesome art. (Links to the ART are forthcoming)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This story was written for personal enjoyment and entertainment purposes.

JASON  
# # # #  
When he woke up, he was surprised. Black and white speckles overtook his vision when he turned his head, and even his optics with their wide range of input possibilities, can’t see in absolute dark. Static filled his ears. If his vision and hearing were still slagged then his brain pan must still be cracked. So where the hell was he? No way should he be waking up before he was fixed.

He felt around, trying to get his bearings. He never managed to reach more than a few inches away from his body. It would have been frightening if he was human. If he didn't know better he'd think he's been stored. He felt carefully around the corners of the box, searching for a catch, or some kind of lock. He could feel the edge of something metal under the upholstery that lined the box. It was up, near where his shoulders were. There was another metal something, down near his fingertips, but it was buried under the upholstery too. So they weren’t latches. He wiggled sideways, until his back was leaned partially against the side and his shoulders were jammed between the top and bottom of the box. It was tight, but he had enough room to feel around the top of the box, and see if there was some kind of catch there.

Maybe this was a drawer or something? The bigger repair shops sometimes had work bays where they stored the robots they weren't working on. He felt around, until he found the edge of the upholstery and was able to peel it back. There was a hinge between the side and the top of the box. So the lid opened up. He turned his body sideways further, trying to use his shoulders to force the lid up, but there wasn't even a little bit of give. Rolling over onto his back, he used his knees and arms to push upwards. The box creaked, but the lid didn’t budge. He was trapped.

He could feel his human responses, glitches in his program, telling his body to start hyperventilating and panicking. He didn’t think twice about crushing those impulses. What good would they do him here? Nobody could see whether he reacted in a human manner or not. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference. That was just the reality of the situation. Better to stay calm and collected like his base code suggested instead of letting his learned responses control him.

Bruce would be so proud of the fact that he could turn his emotions off. Back before he’d always been trying to teach this to Jason. Jason just hadn’t wanted to learn this lesson. HE was a learning bot, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to act like the people around him. He knew when people acted in a way that was dangerous to them. He had refused to indulge Bruce in that kind of behavior. It was why he’d been one of the brattiest robots anybody had ever met.

He didn’t need to be irreverent and mouthy here and now. Where there was nobody to listen and he didn’t know if he was still being held by the Joker.

He pulled his arm back as close to his body as he could. Than lashed up, using all the strength in his metal skeleton lent him.

The lid bowed upwards for a second, but the upholstery seemed to be able to negate the power of his punches. Perhaps this was a containment unit?

Had Bruce found him so lacking that he returned him to the Wayne Industries R&D unit? This time he couldn’t push down his programmed reaction of panic. Not all the way.

Wayne industries was one of the only places that could kill Jason. Tear his brain apart until he didn’t even remember who he was.

He needed to get out and see where he was. And he needed to do it now. He pushed his legs back down into the padding of the box. He arched his back so that he could use all of his weight to push them down as hard as he could. Once he was sure he had the largest arc of movement he could get. He forced his body to ripple. From his shoulders down to his hips all of his gears whined at the motion. His legs sprang out on reflex. His leg shot up in a way that wasn't anything human. The box moved upwards a scant half inch or so, but when he dug his feet into the upholstery at the top he could feel that it was collapsed in on itself. Just a bit. Nothing major, but it was enough to give him hope that he was going to be able to get out of here.

Thank god Bruce had taught him how to override his coding imperatives to only use human level strength. Otherwise he'd be in real trouble. Now he'd just have to hope that he’d be able to get out of the box and crack it open before any Wayne engineering Techs noticed he wasn't as de-commissioned as he was supposed to be.

He kicked up again and again, forcing his body to jackknife up until his feet. He finally kicked through the upholstery and reached the wood on the other side. At least it thumped in a soft way that wood did. If it was steel and he was just deluding himself he was going to be in serious trouble, because there was no way he'd be able to punch through that, but he'd have to hope for the best. Otherwise he'd have to give up control of his body's panic responses.

He kicked up again, and again. The thumps were still muted, wooden over the sound of static. IF only he could be sure he wasn’t imagining things. It took ten more kicks before he was sure he was making progress. There was a crack, loud in the confines of the box. 

Another kick and the roof buckled, but instead of springing upwards like he’d expected, the sides split and fell down on his legs, followed by a flood of dirt. He reached down, squirming until he could get a handful of the dirt. It was moist, thick. He could feel the richness of it. Where the hell was he? Logic circuits clicked away comparing his current situation with past experience and simulated events experienced through the lenses of fiction. The answer his coding found wasn’t comforting. Facts to use for analysis. A padded box, hinged and opening upwards, used to hold a body, and meant to be buried under the ground.

Answer: A casket. Meant to hold a dead body and be buried under the ground. Commonly made of wood and upholstery, particularly in older cemeteries, such as one would find on the Wayne Manor grounds.

Jason gave up his control of the panic responses, allowing them to bypass the safety protocols that held his strength and behavior in check. He allowed it to dull the pain feedback from tearing the upholstery apart. Ripping until he was surrounded by torn foam and silken cloth. His legs were still pinned under the dirt. If he couldn’t get out he was going to be stuck here like this. In a box that was falling apart his body buried in slowly encroaching dirt that would cause his pseudo-skin to rot off of his body. He had to get out! Because if Bruce or the Joker had buried him then they hadn’t been planning to come back and save him.

With the upholstery out of the way he could feel the cracks that radiated out from the collapsed section of the casket. He dug his fingers into the wood. Picking at it until he could force his fingers through. Then he pulled down and apart. Burying himself completely with dirt. Virtualized instincts told his body to breath, but he tamped down on that instinct. It sucked having to clean dirt out of his respiratory systems and it wasn’t like it was a necessary response anyway.

He rolled his body until he was on his stomach. A taxing experience with the weight of the dirt pushing down on every strut and joint of his body. But he managed it with minimal fuss, then he was able to push himself up on to his hands and knees. Dirt falling down to fill the holes was his body no longer was. It hurt forcing himself to sit up pushing against the dirt, tasting it in his mouth and breathing it in when he lost control of his breathing instead. It pushed against his optics until it felt like they’d be forced back into his skull.

He ignored that thought though. He also ignored the thought about the way dirt might be getting inside his cracked brain pan. He needed panic responses to all give him the strength to ignore his programing. He didn’t need to panic to the point where he lost sight of what he was trying to do.

He pushed himself up until he was balanced back on his heels. When he tried to raise his arms above his head, there was a screaming pain where one of his shoulder joints protested being forced into a straightened position. So it wasn’t just his brain pan that hadn’t been fixed after the Joker went after him with a crow-bar.

Which meant he’d have to be prepared for at least one of his central processing units to overheat. The bastard had known what he’d been doing, concentrating his blows on Jason’s head and abdominal segments where they would do the most damage. The shoulder joint was only screwed up because he’d fought the hand-cuffs Joker had used to secure his hands. A remarkably smart decision for the crazy organic. Because if Jason had been able to get his hands free he’d have had no problem overriding the codes Bruce had built into his programs. The one that said he couldn't fight back in any way that might be lethal to an organic. The bastard had been gunning for Bruce. In-organics were allowed to interfere in situations where organics were likely to kill or seriously harm each other.

He considered the fact that he was still pissed about Joker. The kind of pissed that meant he might chase the man down and beat him into a pulp, even though he could be decommissioned for going after him, where there was no immediate danger. He was already buried though. It wasn’t like it would matter if Bruce decided to DE-commission him.

That decision made, he used the idea of getting out and checking on Bruce and hurting the Joker for hurting Bruce to motivate himself. One of his prime directive s was to protect Bruce. It was enough to get his processor to stop screaming warning signals out at him about the fact that his shoulder joint was only one severe stress incident from become slag.

Digging his way up through the dirt was probably severely stressing but there was no way he was going to stay here and rot. Not when Bruce might need him. It was like swimming in slow motion. Each push of his hands enough to move him up a few inches. Let his legs stretch out just a little straighter. Until he is completely suspended in the dirt. Panic responses try to tell him that he can’t tell his up from his down, that he’s just crawling up into nothing. He has auto-leveling capabilities built into his body. He knows what is up and what is down. He ignores the panic response and directs his processors to imagining situations that the Joker might have forced Bruce into. It’s not his favorite thing to imagine, but it keeps his processors busy panicking over other things. Things that will get him out of here, instead of forcing him into freezing.

Inch after slow inch he forces himself upwards. Partially rendered images of Bruce buried alive in another casket, unable to get out due to his human body flash across his processor, along with thoughts about Bruce on that dirty Warehouse floor being beaten in his place, and data on common injuries sustained by the human body when it was exposed to explosives like the ones the Joker had left in the warehouse with Jason.

The thoughts and fears kept him moving even as he could feel his shoulder joint slowly go further and further out of joint. If he didn’t reach the surface soon, he was going to have to dig himself out one armed. He didn’t relish the idea. He’d do it though, if that’s what it comes down to it.

Thinking about Bruce in trouble might keep his panic responses under control but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t ignore the scenarios that his processor were coming up with. He needed to check on Bruce.  
He kicked out with his legs and clawed his way up and out of the grave. Telling himself the whole time that this was no different than dragging himself across the warehouse floor leaking hydraulic and cooling fluids the whole way.

Because as long as he’d already done something this difficult than logic dictates that he can do it again. If experience is showing that this is truthfully harder than the crawl across the warehouse floor, that was the last thing he remembered, then he is going to ignore logic. He is going to get out and then he’s going to find Bruce and make sure he’s all right before he beats the shit out of the Joker.

Despite all the promises he made to himself, when he finally managed to get completely out of the whole, his feet slipping free of the dirt, he didn’t immediately try to get up. Instead he curled up against the headstone at his back and tries to run a diagnostic. He needs to know how much battery he has left. He’d been at nearly 98% when Joker had caught him, but with all of the bows to the abdominal cavity that surrounded his battery unit it was likely that the battery was damaged or leaking, and there was no way he’d been charging in the casket. No sunlight meant no solar power.

The diagnostic sent back what felt like a million warning signals out before it finally provided a report of his battery power. 8% powering backup batter pack, please charge as soon as possible. Hardware reboot would be required if batteries reach critical levels. It took him a few seconds longer than it should to realize what it’s saying. It doesn’t seem right. He’d thought it was another report about his right optic, which wasn’t working, or this audio input which is still filled with static. Back-up power cells almost never get used because if a robot is in a rest cycle the primary battery is supposed to last for years. What the hell kind of damage had the Joker done? Had the explosion knocked his primary battery pack loose?

The most likely reasons for his low battery power were that his nano-repair bots had remained active and working on him even when he didn’t have any other means of power, unlikely given the fact that he was still pore scrap than robot. Since his logic circuits were functional again, the nan o-bots had probably repaired his motherboard and hard-drive, but that would still only take a minimal amount of power. Repairs made to the neurological circuits didn’t require large amounts of power. All they took was time.

Which led to the next most likely cause for his frightening lack of battery power. Time had passed, and a lot of it. In a rest cycle it would take over three years to run his primary batteries down completely. That couldn’t be right though, could it?

Logic told him that his surrounding should be able to give him the means to tell if he really had been asleep that long. Grass had grown over the grave wear he was buried. That would take at least a few months. The darkening of the white marble that made up his headstone said at least a year.

So whatever had happened between Bruce and the Joker was over. Had been for a long time. He collapsed back against the headstone, he lost the elements of panic that had helped him ignore the damage done to his body. 

His system beeped at him. Reminding him that he needed a charge desperately. He could stay here and let himself run down, but if he did that he wouldn’t be able to find out what happened to Bruce. And if the Joker really did win, then Jason needed to make sure he pays for it, before he allowed himself to go off-line. It was the least he owed Bruce.

He forced himself upright, his right leg strut tries to give out beneath him, but he forces his pain sensors into sleep mode and starts walking. He needs to get to the manor and his charging station. He doesn’t have time to worry about damaging his body. It wasn’t like his body can get much more damaged. He’s going to have to have half of his parts replaced as it is.

# # # #

The lights are on in the manor kitchen and Bruce’s study. Relief pushes his panic responses into the back of his head. Not ignored, just unnecessary in his current situation. Bruce and Alfred have to be okay. There isn’t any sign of movement, but that probably means their down in the cave. Just like normal.

Bruce isn’t the type to leave spare keys lying around even when they might come in handy, but Jason’s personal codes for the backdoor lock haven’t changed. That’s a grievous breach of protocol, if he’s been gone longer than three months.

Still, he was grateful. Even with most of his pain circuits out of commission, he didn’t want to have to try and crawl through a window with his optics still out of whack and his ears full of static. He left muddy foot-prints on Alfred’s kitchen floor, which he was going to get such a talking too for. But right then he was too tired to care. He toed off his dress shoes at the edge of the kitchen floor, where it met the wood floor of the main hall. It sock feet, he doesn’t leave footprints, but it is harder to stay stable. He was forced to dragged himself up the stairs, to the second floor, using only the strength in his working arm and leg.

When he finally reached his bedroom it was just like he left it, only cleaner. Alfred’s organized hand apparent in the fact that all of his shirts and pants were hanging in his closet. And all his repair tools and robotic tools have been cleaned up and put away. 

Normally Jason would check on his projects before going for a charge. There was a flash of red optics as one of his pets came online, but he was too tired and injured to pay attention. Instead he concentrated his energy on dragging his closet door open and shoving aside the hanging clothes, so that he could get to his charging station. He adjusted himself into the charger, making sure that the input jack fit into the charging port on the back of his neck. Once he received the internal chime that meant his charging had started, he prepared to go off line. 

He’d usually close the door before going offline, but not tonight. He doesn’t want to be closed in the dark alone again. So instead he lay back and prompted his hibernate function. He was just so tired.


	2. Chapter 2

ALFRED

# # # #

It was a late night for Master Bruce. The Killer Crock had been sighted in the sewer and it had taken hours upon hours of searching to even get an idea of where the man had hidden himself this time.

Young Master Timothy was unfortunately distraught. Fearing that Master Bruce would blame him for this failure. Both he and Master Bruce had tried to explain to the boy that they will not be like his parents. They realized that just because he is a learning bot with one of the most impressive processing systems that either of them have seen, does not mean they expect Tim to know things that are unknowable.

The damage ran deep though. Master Timothy was always sure that they are just one step away from sending him back to his monstrous parents, who should never have been allowed to commission a robot-pet, much less a brilliant learning bot.

Assured that he can do nothing more to help Masters Bruce and Timothy with their hunt he decides that his time will be better served in making a snack for when they come back. Blueberry scones will settle any fears the young master has that he will be punished.

He was always happy to receive food. A treat that he never questions. Not like Master Bruce’s attempts to make the boy see logic when it came to his inability to accomplish some task which he has assigned himself in a misguided attempt to please them.

If he was not aware that Master Timothy was so without shame when it came to accepting food simply because food was so hard for him to come by in his parents’ house, Alfred would be more pleased with the effect his cooking had on the young master.

As it was it was still a good thing to give Master Timothy treats and see to it that he eats regularly, if only so he knew how to take care of himself should anything happen to either himself or Master Bruce. God forbid, but it was not outside of the realm of possibilities that the Drake’s would find some way to take their son back.

He was so busy trying to remember if they had all of the necessary ingredients for the scones, Master Bruce had a nasty habit of sneaking into the kitchen and stealing the sugar for his coffee, that he didn’t see the shoes in his way. Had he been any less spry he would have fallen as the unexpected obstacle and the slipperiness of the floor worked against him. AS it was he surely bruised his hip against the side of the cabinet keeping himself upright.

Honestly if he’d told Master Bruce once he’d told him a million times, he wasn’t to be tracking dirt into the house and leaving his shoes behind where they could trip up any unsuspecting passerby. Shoes were to go by the door on the mats specifically created for such things.

With an annoyed huff he reached down and picked the shoes up, planning to relocate them to their proper home, when the size of the shoes struck him. They were too small to be Master Bruce’s shoes, and much too large to be Master Timothy’s. His eyes immediately went to the trail of mud that came from the back door. Someone had gotten in. Someone who was most definitely not supposed to be here.

Perhaps it was Dick, come home without warning as he tended to do lately, but that still didn’t make any sense. The shoes were understated; almost plane beneath their coating of mud. Master Dick was not known for such understated tastes, and while Alfred was no longer in charge of picking out his footwear. He was almost certain that Master Dick’s feet would be bigger than this by now.

Carefully, so as not to alarm their intruder if they were watching him, he shifted both shoes into one gloved hand and used the other to reach over and press a button hidden on the underside of the kitchen counter. It would let Master Bruce know to return to the manor as soon as possible. Not as effective as calling him over the comms, but much less likely to draw attention.

He stepped around the muddy shoe prints and carried the shoes back to the door. It would appear strange if he didn’t, give that he had already picked them up. And at least the shoe-prints would remain undisturbed until Master Bruce could check them. To Alfred’s eyes it appeared as though there had only been one intruder, small given the size of the shoes, and injured if the muddy hand-prints on the cabinets and the slight drag marks in every right footprint were anything to go by.

So why would an injured adolescent break into the manor in the middle of the night, using the back door? The window’s to the study appeared a much easier target for someone who didn’t know the Manor. Which raised the question as to who would know that the back door wouldn’t trip the alarm as long as the correct code was put in, but climbing through a window would alert everyone in the manor to an intruder?

The back door had been left open, muddy fingerprints on the keys to the lock and a hand-print on the wall next to it from where someone had leaned against the side of the house. Master Bart had a code and would have been able to get in that way. Alfred glanced down. The shoes were far too big though, and lacked the burnt through soles typically to most speedsters.

The size seemed more like that of Master Kon-El’s but Master Bruce would never have accepted the idea of giving Lex Luthor’s son a code to their home and Master Timothy was still too frightened of being sent away to go against an order so blatantly.

It was truly mysterious.

Given the fact that there were obvious signs of distress and that there were no signs of ill intent, Alfred decided that it would not be acceptable to assuage his curiosity and go looking for their intruder. First though, he secured the door. Making sure that the secondary lock was engaged so that nobody else would be able to get in without setting off the alarms.

The trail their intruder took is easy enough to follow. There are no footprints, but there are smudges from where they leaned against the wall. Nothing as clear as the hand print, outside, but enough that it will be a pain to clean up. If this is Master Kon, he will be helping clean up every bit of dirt with Master Tim right beside to help him.

There are dirty handprints here and there on the banister of the staircase that leads up to the second floor, and the family's bedrooms. The likelihood of Master Kon’s presence in the manor seemed to be increasing.

That is until the hand prints instead of marking the left hallway, that led towards Master Tim’s rooms, headed down the right hallway. The one that led towards Master Dick and Jason’s rooms. Both closed up long ago. There were a few guest rooms down that hallway as well, but they were little used and nobody but family would know about them.

Alfred felt his stomach clench. Master Dick, it has to be. There was no reason for Master Kon to go down that hallway. He takes a turn away from the hallway and into the first bathroom down the left hallway. He knows there is a fully stocked first aid chest there, and unlike Master Kon, Alfred can patch up Master Dick.

That is little comfort though, if Master Dick was injured badly enough he didn’t even try to get down into the cave for treatment, then there was no telling what condition he was in.

He pulled the first aid chest out and tucked it under an arm, before hurrying down the opposite hallway and to Dick’s room. The door was closed, without a hint of mud on the doorway or the knob. He opened the door, just to be sure. The room looked just the same as when he last dusted it. Not so much as a pillow out of place.

He closed the door back, unsure if he is grateful that Dick wasn’t injured or sad that he hadn’t returned. It’s been three years since they lost Jason and Master Richard still hadn’t been able to make peace with it. He keeps hoping that Dick will come back, even if he’d come just because he was injured that would have been something.

So where was the intruder? They had to have come down this hallway. He turned, to scan the area. trying to find signs of which guestroom has been disturbed. He was so busy looking at the guest room doors, that he didn’t notice until he scanned the hallway a second time. Jason’s door was open, and there was a muddy hand print on the door jam.

Perhaps Master Richard had gotten confused and wanted to re-connect with his memories of Jason? Please let it be that. Please don’t let someone be desecrating Master Jason’s memories. It would break his heart. Not to mention Master Bruce’s.

He could not ignore this though. As little as he wanted to enter that room, he wanted Bruce to enter it less.

He took a deep breath, and tucked the first aid kit more firmly under his arm. He was a Wayne family butler and he would deal with everything that entailed.

At first, when he entered the room, there are no signs that anything has been disturbed. All of Master Jason’s books were where they were supposed to be. His collection of virtual pets remained on their shelf. There were no signs that anything has been taken. Perhaps the intruder had simply been looking for someone and thought someone would be here.

He turned to leave. Only to have something start bumping against his shoe. With a soft series of whirls and beeps. Ace, the companion robot Jason had been in the process of fixing when he had his last run in with the Joker. There was no way the little things should awake and trying to get his attention. Despite their best efforts he had both refused to be turned off and refused to leave Master Jason’s rooms, seemingly convinced that his companion would return. He had even refused an offer to go to Blüdhaven with Master Richard.

Usually the only reason he would leave his charging and interface station on Master Jason’s desk, was when he wanted to help with the dusting.

“Ace?”

The bot let out a happy wail and started tugging on Alfred’s pants leg. Dragging him towards the closet. “Ace, I have somewhere I need to be.”

Ace just kept tugging. Alfred considered picking him up and placing Ace back on his charging station so that he could get back to looking for the intruder, but he could still remember Master Jason yelling at him for picking on Ace, and so let himself be dragged. Whatever Ace wanted to show him, it should only take a moment. Then he could get back to what he’d been doing.

Sensing his agreement, Ace let go of his pants and went whirring over to the closet and out of sight, into the back corner where Master Jason’s charging station had been installed.

Perhaps Ace’s coding was finally starting to deteriorate. It would be unfortunate in a way, but also a good thing. Master Jason would not have wanted Ace to hole up in his room, waiting for him to come back. If his memory files were deteriorating, it would only be a matter of time, before they could re-set his ownership to Master Dick, or perhaps Young Master Timothy.

He had apparently taken too much time in following, as Ace whirred back out of the closet to bump against his shoes, before spinning around and heading back into the closet.

“Honestly, Ace I am coming. You simply need to be patient.”

Ace let out an annoyed set of beeps in reply, but whatever he was doing in the closet was enough to keep him from coming out and trying to eat Alfred’s shoe laces. As he was wont to do.

He crouched down carefully to see into the back corner of the closet, at first all he could see was the flashing red lights that decorated the tip of Ace’s antenna. His vision slowly adjusted to the dark until he was able to pick out a larger shape tucked into the back corner. It was humanoid but he could see little beyond that. There was no tale-tell shine of optics, so the droid had to be taking a rest cycle during while he charged.

The fact that the droid in question had not only known where Jason’s charging station was, but had chosen to use it, along with the way Ace was acting…it couldn’t be though. Still…He reached up and hit the closet’s light switch.

He had to sit down on the floor. Though that was perhaps too graceful of a description for half collapsing to the floor. Ace was busy spinning in happy circles.

It was Jason, covered in mud and his suit ruined. The superficial damage to his pseudo-skin had been covered up before he was buried. That didn’t hide the way one of his shoulders was going in the wrong direction and the skin was shredded off of his finger-tips. But it was Jason…back from the dead, like the last three years had never happened.


	3. Chapter 3

TIM

# # # #  
The alert goes off when they're knee deep in the sewers. They were following Killer Croc’s seemingly random path through the web of sewer pipes and fallen walls that made up a intricate maze beneath the city.

They probably wouldn't find him tonight. But he'd eating four organics who lived above ground and the city is panicking. It had been too long since the humans of Gotham had to worry about putting themselves in the line of fire when it comes to villains.

Croc can't eat robots though.

So he was seeking out humans. He was seeking out Batman. Tim was almost sure of it. Because Croc is a villain just like any of the others. He was out to prove himself and what better way than to eat Gotham's protector.

Bruce wasn't thinking about that though. Tim is pretty sure of that fact. Bruce didn't think of himself as human or weak. He thought of himself as Gotham's protector. A nebulous title that transcended humanity, robot kind, even time itself.

So Tim followed him through the sewers. Let the tepid dirty water splash around his tights without argument or complaint. Because he was doing everything he could to be the one to spot Croc first.

Which meant putting all the lessons Bruce had given him about what it meant to be an Android with learning capabilities. And what it meant to become human, on the back burner. Bruce would be able to tell he was turning his human programming off. Thankfully he was distracted by the body parts that they found in bits and pieces throughout the pipes.

All of Tim's processing powers were concentrated on data gathering. This was the sort of thing his mother had made him for. The bricks were slightly discolored ten steps down from where Bruce is standing. Mostly likely they will find a body part there. He doesn't tell Bruce that though. It's not something he'd notice if he was allowing his human programing to take the forefront.

He was so busy scanning the area and trying to the catalog the meaning of every rock and mote of dust that he doesn't notice the alert for a few more seconds than he should have.

He heard the buzz of the electric signal snapping through the comms, but wasn’t until the soft beeping started and grew stronger that he was able to catalog the audio input and translate into a usable conclusion.

It was the warning system for the Manor. The one they had put in place so that if anything every happened when Alfred was alone he'd be able to contact them without putting himself in the line of fire by going into the cave. It was an octave higher than the Cave alert and meant to be something they couldn't ignore.

He had a second to snap his face back into human lines before Bruce turned to him He was not all together successful. His eye muscles are too slack, but he had the domino mask on. And with an alert coming from the Manor Bruce won't expect him to have his faces muscles perfectly under control.

"We need to get back," Bruce said. His voice echoed in the tunnel. Probably carrying down and away across the water until everyone in the area can hear him. Hopefully Crock wasn't close by. The idea that Batman was backing off might be enough to force him into attacking before he had originally planned to.

Just in case, Tim allowed the programs that control his human behavior to take over, but only to the level where they took up 13% of his processing powers. It won't enough to convince Bruce that he was acting in in a normal manner, but it should give him the leeway he need, to keep scanning the area until they reached the surface.

"We should get back to the Bat-mobile."

Bruce nodded and didn’t comment on the slightly off inflection present in Tim's voice. He was distracted, possibly scared. At least that was what his emotional programming was telling him.

He'd feel it more clearly once he allowed his processors to run those files at 100%. For now he was content to know Bruce was dealing with his internal conflicted. He could use that knowledge to do his best to back Bruce up and watch his back.

There hadn't been a second alarm from the Manor's automatic security web. Which could be a good or bad thing.

It was too early to tell. But Tim is hopeful that it is a good sign. If the alarms in the manor haven't been set off and the Cave alarms haven't shown any signs of an attempted breach, then it is likely that whatever is going on in the Manor has more to do with Bruce Wayne's life then Batman’s.

Bruce Wayne's enemies weren't likely to kill Alfred and they won't stand a chance against Bruce when he was pissed off. "Everything will be okay. Alfred can take care of himself." He found himself saying without planning it out. It came straight from the sub-programming Bruce had been programming into his processors.

He found himself freezing. Like a robot instead of an Android. He cataloged the reaction as shock. He hadn't realized that the emotional programing had become such a deeply rooted part of his processing. He had thought it would be impossible to fix him so that he could behave like a proper learning bot.

Bruce turned to look at him over his shoulder. Only the area around his mouth was visible due the angle of his shoulder, but it was enough for Tim to see a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Still Tim wasn't going to let himself be disabled by either shock or emotion. He pushed his human programs down to 5% and started walking forward, forcing Bruce to pick up his pace if he wanted to continue walking in front of Tim.

Their footsteps and the splash of Bruce's cape dragging though the water grew louder. This would be a good time for Croc to attack. But there was no sign of him and they were only six feet from the nearest ladder and man-hole. It wouldn't be long until they were safely back on the surface.

Then Tim could let his proper programming snap into place and start working on catalog the researching what was going on at the manor. A project would be good. It would help him go back to ignoring his programming.

Just what he was supposed to be doing at times like these. It would also let him assure Bruce that the conclusions they had come to were correct and Alfred was safe and unharmed.  
Tim didn't allow himself to consider the data about the likelihood of Alfred being injured or damaged. He didn’t want to think about that possibility. And he was in control of his processing. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall into the human behavior of fear.

Bruce got to the ladder and started up, taking the two rungs at a time. Tim's legs weren't long enough to match that paces but he died have more tinsel strength in his joints than Bruce. He was able to make up for his lack of height with pure power.

They were up on the surface and rolling the man-hole back into place in a matter of seconds. 

They were still blocks from the Bat-mobile but that was not a true concern. They could move much more quickly now that they were not hampered by the sewage or the tight quarters.

"Retrieve the Bat-mobile." Bruce said.  
Tim felt the prickles in his coding that meant that if he hadn't submerged his coding he'd have frozen in shock again. Tonight was a learning experience if nothing else "Sir?"

"Base all actions on primary codes."

Tim nodded, sharp and not at all human. It was freeing. He would never regret learning humanity, but it was tiring. He pushed down even his base human coding. The codes that made people accept robot "Children" as being real. He was a robot in every way. Directive: Retrieve Bat Mobile in shortest time possible. His head swiveled on the neck joint allowing him to scan the area to 300 degree view of the area. He was moving before his coding came allowed his brain to realize the conclusion that his base code had come to. Scampering up the wall, his fingers punching through brick and broken mortar like he was and allowing him to crawl over the side of the building like a spider.

His servos wined as he pushed them past their usual speed. There would be damage. That was not a concern.

His directive was all that was necessary to consider at this point. He would concern himself with repairs at a later time. He reached the edge of the first building and jumped without even slowing to pull out a line. He slammed into the brickwork of the second building with enough force to damage the mortar and chip a few bricks. He was moving before he could hear the chips hit the pavement below None of the loose rubble was large enough to do damage to any of the humans who might be using the sidewalk below and thus were not is concern.

He pushed his servos harder and was moving faster with each leap and step he took forward until he was practically jumping across the buildings. His toes punching down into the sides of buildings hard enough to give himself a second to switch his center of gravity to his fingers which could punch through the brick work and secure his position then he was kicking off again, slamming forward to land a few feet over from his original location.

Building after building passed by until he was over top of the building on the building they had parked the Bat -mobile behind. He didn’t slow down. Instead choosing to jump down and land directly on the Bat mobile. It was shielded and braced so that it could take the type of damage that would be caused by an android landing on it. Tim was the type of thing that Bruce took into consideration.

There was only a slight dent in the roof paneling when he jumped down and accessed the panel that protects the digital keypad and punched in his code. The roof hissed open and he jumped in. It had been 8 minutes since the alert had gone out. He took the driver’s seat. Phase one of directive complete.

He started the engine and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The engine roared and the wind whipped his hair in every direction before the roof finished closing. This speed would be reckless if Bruce were driving, or even if Tim was using anything but his base programing.

As it was, he was still only a few milliseconds from hitting other cars and pedestrians half the time he’s driving. It didn’t scare him. His base programing said the likelihood of his miscalculating and injuring a human is below 15%.

He screeched to a stop next to the alley Bruce was hiding sixty seconds after he got in the car. There was the sound of honking and yelling coming from behind him. He knocked over a newspaper stand and clipped two cars badly enough to do superficial damage, it is expected from humans to be upset. 

The roof opened to let Bruce in. Tim didn’t turn to watch him. It wasn’t necessary. Which was why when Bruce came up on his left side and put a hand on the steering wheel his programming glitched. This was not logical behavior. He could drive faster than Bruce, it would only made sense for him to drive back to the manor.

“Tim, I need you to let go of the steering wheel.”

“That isn’t logical. I can complete the directive to return to the manor more efficiently than you can.”

Bruce made a whistling sound blowing air between his teeth. Tim’s program glitched again as his base programing fought against the programming that handled his human interaction. The two programs fought it out to decide if he needed to understand the meaning of the sound Bruce is making.

“Fighting is wasting time. Get in the passage seat. Now!”

Tim shifted the motor into park and slid into the passenger side. It is still illogical, but Bruce is the human in charge of his behavior and Tim has already addressed the logic issues involved in Bruce taking over the act of driving. There is nothing else he can do.

Bruce gets in, and closes the roof before taking off. He is going 26% slower than Tim would have been able to. Tim doesn’t see in logical reason to inform Bruce of this logic. So he stares forwards, waiting for something to happen that will require his input.

Bruce is silent until they are outside of Gotham proper and driving through the neighborhoods made up of single family homes and duplexes. “Tim, you need to allow your primary coding to reassert itself.”

“You told me to return to Primary Codes.

Bruce’s breath whistled out between his teeth again.

There was an itch deep down in Tim’s coding that whispered that sound meant something important.  
“Code: Rush; Oboe; Boy; Item; Nan; Hard Reboot”

An electric shock ran through Tim’s system. His physical feedback systems came online with a wave of pain like fire. His mouth opened without his permission. There was a screech of metal pushed beyond Its limits and his vision sparked into a field of pure white before tunneling out to black. Then all feedback stopped.

There was a second where his programming burst through his base code, a second where he was terrified. Then there was nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

BRUCE

# # # #

He knew as soon as he told Tim to ignore his programming that he had made a mistake. He’d known that Tim had been regularly pushing the program to the side, in order to function in the way that he had functioned for the majority of his life.. Tim had enough control that the lapses had never been a threat to the mission. Had never crossed over the line into dangerous territory.

In his hurry to assure himself that Alfred was alright he had failed to take into account Tim’s lack of constraint when it came to following orders. He didn’t just push his programing to the back of his processor, he shut it down completely.

Springing into action in a manner so completely Alien that he might as well have been a different person. If person was even the right term for it.

He clenched his fist around a bat-a-rang. His first instinct was to comm Tim and order him to return to his regular programming. They didn’t have time for this sort of thing with the Mansion under attack.

Comming Tim, and distracting him, while he was using his base coding to circumvent all of his safety protocols could end in disaster. If he was distracted at the wrong moment Tim could fall from the side of the building, with his body armor and augmented skeletal structure it probably wouldn’t damage Tim, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

There was a squeal of brakes as the Bat-mobile pulled to a stop in front of him. The roof drew back, revealing Tim in the driver’s seat. He was looking directly forward, not even turning to watch Bruce’ movements. His face was completely blank.

It would be more efficient to let him drive back to the manor. In this state he would be able to make the drive at a much higher rate of speed. Bruce wouldn’t be able to trust him to have his back once they arrived though.

He placed his hand on Tim’s arm. Physical contact had always been very effective as a way to gain his attention. “Tim, I need you to let go of the steering wheel.”

As expected, even when only function under his primary directives, Tim still reacted to the contact. Turning to meet Bruce’s eyes. “That isn’t logical. I can complete the directive to return to the manor more efficiently than you can.”

Bruce hissed. He should have known Tim would be able to pick up the flaw in his logic, based on available evidence. Still…“Fighting is wasting time. Get in the passage seat. Now!”

Efficient as ever, Tim had moved to the passenger side seat by the time the echoes of Bruce’s bark had petered out. Leaving Bruce with the task of getting them back to the Manor and ready to fight, he gave it a few minutes, hoping he was wrong about how far down Tim had pushed his programming. There was no sign of more human mannerisms reasserting themselves. Time to see if an order would work. “Tim, you need to allow your primary coding to reassert itself.”

“You told me to return to Primary Codes. “

Bruce didn’t succeed in biting back a second hiss. A hard reboot could do damage to more unstable parts of Tim’s coding, including the programs that Bruce had been integrating into his systems to help him gain a better understanding of human interaction and body reading but if Tim had retreated this far into his primary coding, then it was the method that would cause the lease upheaval when his primary personality reasserted itself.

If that coding was lost, it would take at least a week to repair or replace it all but it could take equally long for Tim’s personality to reassert itself if he was concentrating all of his processing power on this Primary Coding.

He wasn’t willing to force Tim to live like this any longer than he had to, just to preserve the coding. He wasn’t like Tim’s original owners, incapable of understanding the importance of a learning robot’s personality. If it had been anywhere but the Manor…anyone but Alfred, he never would have considered forcing Tim to revert. But that weakness wasn’t Tim’s fault and he wouldn’t force Tim to pay the price for his recklessness. “Code: Rush; Oboe; Boy; Item; Nan; Hard Reboot”

Tim jerked. Every part of his body drew tight. His eyes flared with light, like a monitor preparing to go to sleep. Then he started screaming. A sound completely in-human emanating from his vocal amplifiers. Bruce had never heard anything like it coming from an android in a hard shut down. And between his work as an experimental programmer and Batman he’d seen more than his fair share of Droids go through hard shut downs and reboots.

The scream cuts off as Tim’s body falls against the passenger side window. His head lolling in the manner of dead things and broken puppets. Too similar to Jason’s limp body, so many years ago. Bruce turned his eyes forward and cut off those thoughts, concentrating on the various possible outcomes to the situation at the Manor.

This was only temporary, and then he’d have Tim back. As himself and not some emotionless mannequin.

Thirty seconds…Ninety seconds…Three minutes…And Tim still wasn’t moving.

Bruce allowed himself the weakness of turning to look at Tim. He was still just lying there, propped up by the door. No signs of increased muscle reaction or that any of his systems are running even basic diagnostics.

He felt a shiver of dread run up his spine, before he suppressed those instincts. He had already been foolish enough to be controlled by his fear once today; he couldn’t afford to act so recklessly twice in one night.

Tim would be fine, it was just taking a while for the reboot to take. His own hyper-aware senses were causing the seconds to feel as though they were taking forever to pass. A base response. He focused his eyes forward and forced his shoulders to relax into a more relaxed line.

Even without allowing himself the luxury of looking at the clock, his own internal time sense was enough to let him know that it took over two minutes before the soft whrr of fans and the creak of his muscles tensing and relaxing rhythmically announced the fact that his processors were rebooting.

The forced relaxation Bruce had forced on his body, melted into something more natural, until he was cradled by the bat-mobile’s seat. Relief was acknowledged and suppressed just like dread before it. He could worry about his emotional responses once the matter of the Manor being compromised was handled.

There was a series of rapid whirs and mechanical whines from the passenger seat, before Bruce caught a flash of sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Tim had jerked upright, his back straight and unbending in a way that Bruce could only envy.

“Bruce?”

“I had to hard reboot you. You weren’t responding properly.”

Tim relaxed back into his chair with a rough approximation of human behavior. His spine was still too straight though. “I am sorry for failing to react properly.”

“It’s fine. We need to concentrate on Alfred for now. “

Tim nodded. His face going still and hard, his usual mission face.

It was less than fair, forcing him to concentrate on the mission, instead of allowing him to deal with his reboot, but Bruce felt guilty enough about what had happened without having to try and comfort Tim.

Better if that could be put off until they were back at the Manor. Alfred had always been better at comforting the boys.

It would only be a few minutes now anyway. And then they could deal with whoever had been stupid enough to attack Alfred.


	5. Chapter 5

JASON

# # # #

He came back online when he’s unplugged from the charging station. His eyes were still processing mostly static, particularly in the dark, but that voice. There is no way he could mistake that voice.

“Alfred?” His voice gauges must be shot, because that didn’t sound like his voice. It sounds like he’s some kind of bad HAL remake.

“Young Master Jason. I am very glad to see you again.”

An arm slid behind his back and levered him upright. His optics whited out and his audio input was reduced to static for a few seconds or minutes.

When he was finally able to receive input again, he was upright, his arm slung over Alfred’s shoulder. It was awkward given Alfred’s height, but it took the weight off of his bad knee joints and with Alfred’s gloved hand bracing his neck he was able to get a halfway decent view of the room.

It looked just like it had when he’d last seen it, maybe a little cleaner, but that was about it. There was noise from down near their feet, but even when he strained his optics to the limit he couldn’t see that far down.

Something brushed against his legs and there was a sharp bark.

“Honestly, Ace you are not a puppy anymore. I know you are better trained then to trip Master Jason.”

It was hard to follow all the details in that sentence, but one thing stuck out. “Ace?”

Alfred managed to give Jason an assessing look out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, he is faithful as ever. He has not stopped waiting for you.”

That brought up a question that had been lurking at the back of his awareness. “How long have I been DE-activated?”

“Do you think you can stand on your own for a few seconds?” Alfred asked, instead of answering.

“Al—“ Alfred gave him a few seconds to brace himself, but the lack of support caused a stab of pain to radiate out from his knee. His mouth snapped shut as he clenched his teeth against a scream.

“Here we are Master Jason.” Alfred tucked a happily barking Ace into Jason’s left arm, before slinging Jason’s right arm back over his shoulders. “Now we can head down to the Cave. Master Bruce will want you in the repair bay as quickly as possible.”

Ace wiggled until he could get his paws up on Jason’s shoulder and lick at his cheek. “Does he know I’m back?”

Alfred kept his stride short enough that Jason didn’t have to strain to keep up. “Not yet, but it will only be a matter of minutes, I’m sure. He and Young Master Tim will be on their way back as we speak.”

Jason froze. He had been concentrating most of his attention on keeping Ace from falling out of his arms, so his moment of distraction almost led to disaster when Ace jumped forward a little too enthusiastically and took a nose dive off of his arm.

He jolted away from Alfred trying to catch Ace. His vision fizz out before he managed it.

When his vision came back, Alfred had an arm wrapped around his waist, keeping him partially upright. While he held Ace by his back leg. “Honestly, Master Jason. I had forgotten how little you valued your sense of self preservation.” He pulled Jason back upright, pushing Ace into his arms. “Now, both of you had better behave yourselves.”

Ace tucked his tail between his legs and burrowed into Jason’s chest, to avoid Alfred’s quelling look. Jason snorted to himself, but lifted his arm obediently so that Alfred could duck underneath.

Alfred appeared to take their obedient behavior a tacit agreement to behave. With Ace behaving himself, they were able to move faster. They had made it to the intercession between the hallway that led to Bruce’s room and the hallway before Jason worked up the nerve to ask the question that had distracted him in the first place. “Who is Tim?”

He didn’t get an answer until they had reached the top of the stairs. “Young Master Tim is Master Bruce’s protégé.”

“He replaced me?”

His broken voice amplifiers couldn’t accurately his upset, but Alfred seemed to understand. The supportive grip Alfred had been keeping on his chest, turned into something tighter and more comforting. “No, he didn’t replace you.”

That was a lie, though a comforting one. “He has a new Robin.” 

Alfred sighed. “Tim is Robin, but that doesn’t mean that Bruce replaced you.”

Jason wanted to argue, but the stairs were jarring his broken body and he was in too much pain to concentrate on holding up his part of the conversation.

“He saved your uniform and waited for years before he even agreed to adopt Tim.”

“Years?” He forced out, despite the pain. Had he really been DE-activated for years?

Alfred went quiet until they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m sorry Master Jason. I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

“How long?”

“Over three years.”

Three years. That…that shouldn’t have been possible. How had he come back from a three year DE-activation?

“I am so sorry, Master Jason.”

The Manor’s doors burst open, before Jason was forced to think of something to say in reply to that.

It was Bruce...in full costume. At least Jason assumes its full costume. It’s different then the last time he’d seen the uniform. Darker, sleeker, and definitely more threatening.

“Bruce?”

Bruce froze a few steps into the manor. He was staring at Jason. His cowl shifting the slightest bit to the left, “Alfred, what is going on?”

He knew he shouldn’t push. That it would only make Bruce more suspicious, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Bruce? It’s me.”

Bruce flinched, his cape fluttering around his ankles. “Alfred?”

“It’s Master Jason; he’s come back to us.”

“That’s impossible Alfred. You know that.”

Alfred pulled Jason closer to him. “It is him.”

Bruce stepped forward, danger radiating off of him. “Let him go Alfred. Don’t make me force you to.”

Instead of doing as he was ordered, Alfred turned so that Jason was hidden behind him. “I know you don’t want to get your hopes up, Master Bruce. Not after all of this time, but I give you my word that it is Young Master Jason.”

“Alfred…” Bruce took another threatening step forward. Jason braced himself for the pain, when he was ripped away from Alfred. He shifted as slowly and carefully as he could to put Ace down on the floor. No point in getting him injured too.

Bruce’ gaze zeroed in on him as soon as he started to move. Strangely though, he didn’t take advantage of Jason’s weakened position. Instead he seemed to be staring at Ace.

“All of his programming, mechanical specifications, and damage matches with those of Jason Todd.” A strange voice said from behind Bruce, breaking the stalemate between Bruce and Alfred.

A tiny figure came out from behind Bruce. This had to be Tim, the new Robin. His replacement.

“I can assure you with 95% accuracy that he is Jason Todd.” Tim said, moving to stand in front of Bruce.

Alfred relaxed slightly, now that he wasn’t the only one standing between Jason and Bruce.

“I believe it would be logical for you check his burial site, while Alfred and I escort him to the repair bay in the Cave.”

“I’ll take him to the Cave.” Bruce said.

Tim nodded and moved out of his way. “Then I will investigate the grave site.”

Bruce strode forward until he could take Jason from Alfred, supporting his weight with an ease Alfred had not managed. “Alfred.”

“Of course Master Bruce. I will meet you in the cave, after I retrieve the scans from Master Jason’s last set of repairs.”

Bruce nodded. Before scooping Jason up into his arms and striding off towards the Library and the hidden stairway concealed there.

Jason was tempted to make a sarcastic remark about not being a damsel in distress. It was what he would have done if he’d found himself in this situation before. But his energy reserves were running down again, and he was feeling almost no pain. Bruce, always observant, had somehow managed to find a way of holding him that braced his head against Bruce’s shoulder without forcing his damaged knee to take a large amount of his weight.

Still, he couldn’t stay completely silent. It just wasn’t in him. “I like the new look. The black color scheme is nice, very melodramatic. “The sarcasm doesn’t come out right with his broken vocals.

But Bruce seems to pick up on it anyway. He let out a choked off bark of laughter, that sounded almost like a sob.

“Bruce?”

Bruce pulled him tighter against his chest. If it had been anybody else, Jason would have said it was a hug. But this was Bruce. He didn’t do hugs.

“Don’t tell me you’re going sentimental on me, B?”

Bruce loosened his grip a tiny amount. Not enough to cover for the fact it was an improvised embrace, but enough to let him pull out the book that triggered the door to the cave. “At some point you’re going to have to learn how to be serious.”

Jason hid his smirk against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce might not be ready to admit it, but he’d obviously already accepted that Jason was back.

Bruce stepped through the hidden door and into the cave. Even with is screwed up audio input Jason could still pick up the distant sound of bat’s chittering and the hum of the Cave’s equipment. His body relaxed without receiving a fully formed command from his programming. He was home and as long as Bruce and Alfred were willing to accept him back into their lives the rest would fall into place.

# # # #

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure there are remaining grammar/tense issues in this fic. If you see any please, please comment and let me know so that I can fix them!
> 
> I will reward you with virtual hugs and cookies!


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